


A Little Understanding

by disapparater



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crushes, M/M, Muggle Technology, Neighbors, Thunder and Lightning, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:06:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disapparater/pseuds/disapparater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody needs good neighbours. During a storm, Harry turns to his newest neighbour for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Understanding

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a bunch of random prompts my beta gave me. Warning for The Godfather spoilers?

Feeling rather chuffed with his purchase, Harry practically skips down the street on his way home. This is the first item of clothing he has bought without Hermione or Ginny's help and this has made him inordinately pleased with himself. So pleased, in fact, that he decides to walk the couple of miles back to his flat, Schuh bag proudly swinging from his hands, instead of Apparating.

He's about half way home when Harry realises things have got a little dim. At this point he is usually able to see his building, standing tall not too far in the distance. Instead he can only see up to the chip shop a few streets away from his building. The one that sells the soggy chips drenched in vinegar, which Harry loves and is possibly the reason he's denying the need to shop for new trousers, as well.

Barely a few steps later and Harry can't even see the chip shop. He looks behind him and realises he can't see much further in that direction, either. The fog is moving in quickly. A sense of foreboding already rising in his chest, Harry quickens his pace. Not enough so that anyone watching him would notice, but enough to allow himself to know he'll get home sooner.

By the time Harry is passing the chip shop, he can barely see two feet in front of him. When the sky dims and, at three o'clock in the afternoon, it looks more like the middle of the night—a very fucking foggy middle of the night—Harry dispenses with any pretences and starts to jog, then outright run, towards his building.

Once inside, Harry breathes a sigh of relief. He even starts to feel happy again; it hadn't even started raining before he got home. He's about to reach out to call the lift, but his hand stills. He remembers getting stuck in the lift for over an hour during a particularly heavy downpour one day a couple of months ago. He decides not to risk it. His soggy chip and vinegar enlarged waistline could do with the exercise, anyway.

As Harry walks the 12 flights of stairs to his flat, he looks out of the windows he passes. On all sides of the building he can see nothing. Just the whiteness of the fog surrounding the building. The higher he climbs, the greyer it becomes. He's thankful to the lighting system installed in the building. It's a fancy bit of magic that detects the amount of natural light (or lack thereof) and compensates accordingly. It's just one of many reasons Harry chose to move into this building six months ago.

He's on floor 10 when he hears the splatter of rain against the windows. He looks at the blurry, constantly moving shapes made by the sudden and heavy rain and starts taking the stairs two at a time.

Once at his floor he fumbles for his key, unlocks the door and rushes inside. He's not scared or anything; he just really wants to get home.

Inside his flat Harry feels immensely safer. Better. He feels better. He's glad to be home; shopping is really exhausting. He drops his purchase at the end of his bed and changes out of his fog-dampened clothes. Deciding he should utilise he new purchase, he also slips into his new shoes. They are bright red, ankle high and Harry wonders why he let the shop assistant talk him into buying such expensive canvas shoes. He's seen similar ones in Shoe Zone for a fraction of the price. They seem comfy, at least.

It's when Harry's taking the first sip of his cup of tea fifteen minutes later that he sees the first flash of lightning. It penetrates the dense fog to light Harry's kitchen for a fraction of a second. Instead of sipping, Harry lets out a huff of, let's call it surprise, and spills hot tea down his chin and chest. Harry decides to blame the pain of his scalding skin for the noise he makes that sounds suspiciously like a squeal, not the clap of thunder that follows the lightning by only a few seconds.

Discarding his now mostly empty mug, Harry reaches for a tea towel and mops his chin and chest of excess tea. He then drops the wet tea towel on the kitchen floor. It's at moments like this that he's glad he lives alone.

How brightly the lightning lit up his kitchen makes Harry realise how dark it is inside his flat. Thanks to the wonders of his magical building, a simple clap of his hands fixes that. Now lit up with magical light, Harry finds his flat more warm and homely. He feels safe enough to make himself another cup of tea.

Wandering to the living room, Harry closes the curtains on the storm raging amongst the fog outside and feels better. He plonks himself down on his sofa and starts flipping through a magazine, sipping his tea without incident.

The next time the lightning strikes, Harry manages to not spill a drop of tea. He thanks his skills and calm demeanour for this, not the fact that the bright lights of his flat make the lightning a small flicker in comparison to the full bolt he witnessed in the kitchen. He pauses, mug at his mouth, waiting for the thunder. In the no more than two or three seconds between the flash of lightning and the clap of thunder, the lights in the room flicker and go out. When the thunder does sound, it seems to fill the now-dark room and go on for minutes.

As calmly as possible, Harry puts his mug and magazine down on the coffee table. The lights went out. No big deal. In pre-wizard times, Harry would've simply fetched a stepladder and a new light bulb from the cupboard. Since learning he was a wizard, well, Harry had never had to face this kind of problem. Did magical light... blow?

Dismissing the thought, Harry simply tries clapping the lights back on. It doesn't work. A distinct sense of foreboding is beginning to rise in Harry's chest and he claps louder. The lights don't come back on. Instead Harry is standing in the middle of his dark living room slow clapping himself.

As his eyes adjust to the darkness, Harry spots his wand laying innocently amongst his files and he stops clapping so he can snatch it up.

“ _Lumos_.” When the tip of his wand does not light up, Harry says the spell again and again, getting more frantic. “ _Lumos. Lumos. Lumos. Lumos!_ ”

Eventually he stops and takes a deep, calming breath. Of course it won't work when he's this anxious. He closes his eyes. He's being ridiculous, he knows that. After a few minutes of calm breaths he opens his eyes and tries again.

“ _Lumos _.”__

__This tip of his wand lights. Harry is just about to fist pump the air with relief when the light flickers and goes out. His anticipated celebration instead becomes cursing._ _

__Harry paces the room, trying to think what he should do. He's terrified himself into losing his magic and the magic of his flat. He needs to calm down. He thinks about pets; they don't like storms either. They cope by hiding under beds, which Harry would have gladly tried if under his bed didn't have dust bunnies the size of his head that ate his socks._ _

__It's when he stumbles into the coffee table, bashing his knee and swearing loudly that he knows he won't be able to do anything without help. Without light. Without answers. And there is only one person in this building who Harry thinks will have those answers. They are also the only person in the building who Harry really _wants_ to go to. He looks up at his ceiling, as if he can see through the floor to the occupant of flat 13._ _

__-_ _

__The flat above Harry had been empty when he moved in, and he was grateful for that. He didn't have to worry about noisy footsteps or loud music. His downstairs neighbour was a 98-year-old witch who's vocabulary seemed to only consist of the word 'what' as that is all she yelled at Harry every time he had tried to speak to her. He assumed any noises he made were not disturbing her._ _

__It had been about two months ago when Harry came home to find the lobby of the building filled with boxes all marked with rooms and instructions, such as 'STUDY – HEAVY' and 'BATHROOM – GENTLE!'. Obviously someone was moving in._ _

__Still glancing around at the variously sized boxes, Harry heard sounds and what he thought might have been someone cursing. Moving through the new haphazard maze in the lobby, Harry spotted someone by the lift. They were bent over with their head in a trunk, rummaging for something that, if the now definitely audible cursing was anything to go by, they couldn't find._ _

__Wanting to be a good neighbour, Harry thought he should offer advice and help._ _

__“I don't recommend using the lift right now; I got stuck in there for an hour last week. But I'd be happy to help you levitate these boxes upstairs. Are you moving into 13?”_ _

__“A shoddy lift?” said a voice from the depths of the trunk. “The estate agent didn't say anything about _that_.”_ _

__The body the voice belonged to extracted itself from the trunk. He was tall and thin with beautiful blond hair. Two feelings rushed through Harry: excitement and foreboding._ _

__“Or was it during the torrential rain last week?” The blond voice asked as he started to turn around. “That would make sense in a building this—”_ _

__The foreboding feeling had disappeared, and Harry was left with resignation and more excitement than he had anticipated._ _

__“Hey, Malfoy.”_ _

__“Potter.” Malfoy looked at him without a scowl and without surprise. He looked as resigned as Harry felt. “You live here?” He didn't even wait for Harry's nod, instead talking over it. “Of course you live here.”_ _

__“So, flat 13?”_ _

__“My lucky number.”_ _

__Harry smiled, regardless of how they each felt about this, it paid to be nice to your neighbours. “I'll be right under you.”_ _

__Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, but apparently thought better of it. He closed his mouth and his eyes and smiled instead. When he opened his eyes again he said, “You said the lift is on the blink. Is your offer of help still valid?”_ _

__Between them it only took two trips up and down the stairs, levitating several boxes at once, to deposit all of Malfoy's possessions into flat 13. After an awkward, but not terrible, thanks-you're-welcome conversation and a glass of water (because Malfoy had no idea where he'd packed his tea bags), Harry left._ _

__He had not been back inside Malfoy's flat since, and Malfoy had never been inside Harry's. They had met several times in the halls, in the lobby and on the street. Being the only two residents in the building under the age of 60, Harry was always glad when he bumped into Malfoy. They kept conversation light, and most often discussed their neighbours, heedless of the fact they could be accused of gossiping like old women. They had days of entertainment after the memorable incident when Mr Radzik locked himself out of his flat on the third floor without his wand. After much drama and many meandering stories, they had solved the problem with a simple _Alohamora_._ _

__-_ _

__Standing in the darkness of his flat staring at the ceiling for 10 minutes isn't doing Harry any good. In a burst of sudden inspiration, Harry rushes through his dark flat to the kitchen. He grabs all his candles from under the sink and promptly dumps them amongst the shavings in the rubbish bin. Satisfied, he rushes out of the front door and up the steps, trying not to be bothered by the darkness and the sound of the heavy rain on the windows._ _

__When he reaches the door to flat 13, Harry falters. He doesn't want Malfoy to know he's... uncomfortable about the weather or the lights or his magic. He doesn't want Malfoy to know he's desperate for answers, and possibly for comfort in human company. Rotating his shoulders, Harry tries to relax and exude calm—tries to be cool. He doesn't want to impress Malfoy or anything, he just doesn't want to show weakness._ _

__After a few minutes, he finally grows some balls and knocks on Malfoy's door. When the door opens Malfoy stands there, leaning against the door frame and looks exactly how Harry is trying to. From the glance Malfoy is giving Harry, he sees right through it._ _

__“Potter,” says Malfoy, not impolitely. “What can I do for you?”_ _

__“Candles,” Harry all but shouts, simply pleased he remembered his cover story. “I mean, do you have any candles I can borrow? My lights... no matter how many times I clap they won't come on.”_ _

__“They're not fairies, Potter.” Malfoy is smiling, so regardless of the smart arse comment, Harry counts it as a win. “It shocks me that I'm even surprised you don't have candles. Come in.” Malfoy waves Harry into his hallway. “I'll just be a minute.” And with that Malfoy disappears behind a nearby door._ _

__Harry only has time to note the coat stand by the door and the framed prints on the wall before Malfoy is back, dropping four large candles into Harry's arms._ _

__“That enough to keep you going?” Malfoy asks._ _

__“I reckon so, yeah. Thanks.”_ _

__“Not a problem.” Mafloy smiles at Harry expectantly, but Harry isn't ready to leave yet; he's got none of what he actually came for._ _

__“I like your coat rack.” Harry inwardly cringes at his attempt at small talk._ _

__Malfoy frowns, but says, “Thank you.”_ _

__Harry takes a step back, but makes another attempt at conversation. “What are your plans for the evening?”_ _

__The frown leaves Malfoy's face and he shrugs. “Not much. A little reading, a little writing. A simple dinner, what with the magic being out.”_ _

__“Why, erm, why is the magic out?” Harry asks, trying not to sound as anxious as he is about the fact nor as eager as he is to be asking the question._ _

__“The storm,” Malfoy answers, as if it's obvious. Harry must look as oblivious as he feels, because Malfoy carries on. “It's an electrical storm, right on top of us. A concentration of alternative energy like that can interfere with magic. You might find your magic being sporadic if you try to use it in a densely populated Muggle area, for example, due to the amount of electricity in the vicinity. Electrical energy usually only interferes intermittently, causing the lights to flash, for example. This building is old, though, along with its integrated magic, and the storm is quite a bad one. Don't worry, it should all be back to normal by morning.”_ _

__“By morning?” Harry echoes, suddenly feeling something akin to—but decidedly not—fear at the prospect of spending the night alone, in the dark, without magic during a storm. He stares off into space, feeling the not-fear seeping its way through him._ _

__It's Malfoy's voice that causes his eyes to focus and actually see what he's looking at. And before Malfoy can finish his, “Potter, are you—” Harry is making his way down Malfoy's hall, being purposely distracted by a candle-less lamp._ _

__“Is this Muggle?” Harry asks as he walks. He peers over the top of the lamp and squints at the brightness of the light bulb that assaults his eyes. “This is Muggle!” He looks up at Malfoy, who is walking down the hall towards Harry, as bright spots dance across his vision. “Where did you get a Muggle lamp? How did you make it work? Do you have electricity in here? _Why_ do you even have a Muggle lamp at all?”_ _

__Malfoy stands in front of Harry, glancing between Harry and the front door, eyeing them both suspiciously. After a few moments Malfoy sighs lightly and answers Harry's questions._ _

__“I bought a Muggle lamp from a Muggle shop. I made it work using electricity; _yes_ , I have electricity in here, only four or five sockets, but enough for a lamp and a television and such. I have a Muggle lamp because I wanted a Muggle lamp; it goes with my wallpaper perfectly.”_ _

__Ignoring most of what Malfoy says, Harry jumps straight to, “You have a _television_?” and whirls around to find the living room door open behind him, television clear to see in front of a large, comfy looking sofa. “Can I—?” Harry doesn't finish or wait for an answer before stepping inside the room._ _

__The far wall is filled, floor to ceiling, with bookcases. Only instead of being filled with books, they are filled with DVDs. He is flabbergasted. Harry can't help but let his feet lead him over to the shelves to inspect the largest DVD collection he has ever seen outside of the Blockbuster down the road from Dean's house._ _

__Behind him, Malfoy mutters, “Please, make yourself at home,” but Harry thinks he hears laughter in his voice._ _

__His eyes roam over the spines, and he instantly sees that the DVDs are shelved in alphabetical order. Aaltra, Beetlejuice, Clerks, Delicatessen, Enemy at the Gates, Fargo... some he recognises, some he doesn't. Then he reaches the Gs and his eyes alight on a title that makes him grin and spin to face Malfoy._ _

__“The Godfather!” Harry cries._ _

__“Surprisingly good taste, Potter; it's one of my favourites.”_ _

__“I've never actually seen it,” Harry admits._ _

__“Well, you should; it's bloody good.”_ _

__“Can, er—” Harry fidgets awkwardly, feeling too shy to ask. He glances at the dark square of Malfoy's living room window, expecting the lightning to flash at any second and light it up. Resolve strengthened, he starts again. “Can we watch it now?”_ _

__Malfoy opens his mouth to speak, but doesn't. His eyes flit to the window as Harry's had done, and this time the lightning does strike. Harry flinches and Malfoy sighs._ _

__“Well, I suppose I set myself up for that; I did say you should watch it.” Another sigh, but when the thunder follows, Malfoy raises his voice to speak over it. “Fine, we can watch it now. Do you want anything to drink?”_ _

__The thunder is still ringing in Harry's ears as Malfoy moves towards the living room door, and for no reason at all, he doesn't want Malfoy to leave._ _

__“No!” he cries. Then, more evenly, “I'm fine. Show me how your DVD player works, yeah?”_ _

__Without argument, Malfoy moves back into the room. He doesn't say anything that isn't related to the DVD player, TV set or the film, but does draw the curtains at the window. Harry can feel Malfoy's eyes assessing him—no doubt correctly—but Harry ignores it._ _

__As they settle down on the sofa, Harry realises he is glad to be off his feet. Taking the opportunity to make himself at home, just as Malfoy had previously (if jokingly) suggested, Harry unties and removes his new shoes._ _

__For the next couple of hours Harry sits, comfortable and safe, on Draco Malfoy's sofa, watching The Godfather. It comes with a running commentary from Malfoy, most noticeably (and loudly) immediately after a flash of lightning makes it through the drawn curtains. For some reason Malfoy also has a habit of turning the volume up when the thunder gets particularly loud. Harry has no idea why Malfoy would do that, but he's grateful all the same._ _

__After seeing the oranges roll across the ground and Vito Corleone lying unconscious in the street, Harry shivers and brings his feet up onto the sofa in front of him._ _

__“Are you okay?” Malfoy asks, pausing the film. “As affecting as that scene is, it's no horse's head.”_ _

__“I'm fine. It wasn't the film; my feet are cold.”_ _

__“Oh.” Malfoy glances down at Harry's feet and his thin canvas shoes on the floor in front of him. “Hang on.”_ _

__Before Harry can protest, Malfoy has risen from the sofa and left the room. Harry is not as nervous being left alone as he thought he would be. The TV is blinking, showing a paused Fredo weeping on the curb. Malfoy's shape is still indented into the other side of the sofa, and it's still warm—Harry checks. For reasons Harry readily recognises he feels content here in Malfoy's flat. Before he can choose to dismiss those reasons unanalysed, Malfoy is back, and Harry feels even better._ _

__“Here, these should help.” Malfoy drops a pair of woolly, tartan slippers into Harry's lap._ _

__“Your slippers?”_ _

__Malfoy nods and picks up the DVD remote. “Ready?”_ _

__“But, don't you want them?”_ _

__“Nope. My mother gets me slippers every year for Christmas, but I don't and have never worn slippers. I have about 15 pairs at the bottom of my wardrobe. Please keep them.” He looks at Harry imploringly. “ _Please_.”_ _

__Harry laughs and slips them on his feet without further argument. They are as warm as they look and his feet are grateful._ _

__“Okay,” says Harry, “I'm ready.”_ _

__Malfoy settles back into the sofa and rests his feet on the coffee table in front of him. Finally comfortable, he presses play and they continue to watch._ _

__It is at this point that Harry can't help but notice Malfoy's feet. As he stated, he is not wearing slippers. He is, however, wearing socks. Purple polka dot socks. Harry is fascinated by them and finds his eyes drawn to them throughout the rest of the film. He almost misses Sonny getting riddled with bullets, and would have if he hadn't seen Malfoy's toes curl in anticipation. Thankfully Malfoy seems too intent on the film to notice Harry becoming slowly obsessed with his socks._ _

__When the credits begin to roll, Harry looks anywhere but at Malfoy's feet. He hears Malfoy stretch beside him, rise and walk around to Harry's side of the sofa. Harry dares not move; he knows now is the time that Malfoy will politely ask Harry to leave, and Harry can't make up more reasons to stay without the real reasons being more obvious than Harry fears they already are._ _

__“So,” says Malfoy, and Harry holds his breath, “you fancy something to eat?”_ _

__The shock of Malfoy's words—not the accompanying flash of lightning and clap of thunder so close behind they happen almost simultaneously—makes Harry physically jump in surprise. He jumps so badly, in fact, that he accidentally elbows something off of the table beside him._ _

__Malfoy jumps in so quickly that at first Harry thinks the storm frightened him just as badly, until he sees the wooden elephant nestled safely in Malfoy's hands._ _

__“I'm sorry,” Harry says. He can see Malfoy is shaken, but his eyes are on the figure in his hands entirely._ _

__“It's okay.” Malfoy heaves a sigh of obvious relief. “Just, please be careful.” He doesn't make any comments or jokes about Harry's clumsiness or fright—he just genuinely wants Harry to be more cautious._ _

__The wooden elephant is placed back on the table and Malfoy's hand lingers lovingly on it. It seems the item is of importance to him. Harry is curious._ _

__“The elephant means a lot to you,” he says. “Can I ask why?”_ _

__“It was delivered to me by owl, anonymously, shortly after I moved in; a house warming present, I assume.” He smiles slightly and shakes his head at himself. “I know it's silly, but that someone would go to the trouble meant a lot to me. Everyone I know sent a gift with their name attached, so I chose to embrace the anonymity and I've cherished the gift since.” Shrugging self-deprecatingly, a light flush can be seen over Malfoy's cheeks. “Like I said, I know it's silly.”_ _

__“It's not silly.” Harry is quick to reassure him. “It's nice. It's sweet.” Now Harry smiles, small but unabashedly, more at ease than he has been all day. “Did you mention food?”_ _

__-_ _

__The last time Malfoy had mentioned food was a few weeks after he had moved into the flat above Harry's. As far as Harry was concerned, Malfoy had kept mostly to himself. He didn't hear any noises from above; no running or stamping of feet, no raised voices and, thankfully, no noisy sex. Not that Harry spent time think about Malfoy having sex._ _

__They had met on the stairs a few times, one of them coming home when the other was going out. Harry found himself a little disappointed occasionally, wondering what it would be like if they were both headed in the same direction. Maybe they would both be heading for the supermarket nearby, and they could chat and do their shopping together. Maybe they would both be planning to walk to town, and they could stop on the way for a drink together. Maybe Malfoy was heading to somewhere really excited that Harry had never been and he would invite him along and... Maybe Harry should stop having these weird daydreams._ _

__But then one day Harry's daydreams got one step closer to reality. He was walking down to his favourite chip shop when he saw Malfoy a couple of streets ahead of him. Harry—completely subconsciously—quickened his pace. When Malfoy stopped right outside the chip shop Harry was heading for, Harry took a chance and shouted out to Malfoy._ _

__“Potter,” Malfoy greeted him when Harry had finally caught up._ _

__Refusing to believe he was out of breath at all, Harry smiled and motioned to the chippy before finally feeling able to speak._ _

__“You getting some chips?”_ _

__“I don't know,” said Malfoy. “I've not been here before and it looks a bit...”_ _

__“Scummy?” Harry prompted. “Yeah, but the chips are amazing. If you like soggy chips covered in vinegar. I've been eating their chips for months and I've not died or anything.”_ _

__Malfoy seemed to think over Harry's words. “I do like vinegar...”_ _

__“Come on!” Harry all but physically dragged Malfoy inside._ _

__They ordered a large bag of chips each and exited the shop with their steaming purchases in their hands._ _

__“I was thinking about sitting in the park and eating mine,” said Harry, feeling a little nervous but happy. “Want to join me?”_ _

__“I can't, I'm already late to meet a friend; hence the fast food. Thanks for the chips. See you around, Potter.”_ _

__Malfoy turned and walked quickly away, leaving Harry to make his way alone to the park, where he sat and ate his chips in silence, trying not to daydream about what it would be like if Malfoy was sitting beside him._ _

__-_ _

__Malfoy's kitchen is lit sparingly—not at all romantically, Harry is adamant—with several tea lights across all the surfaces._ _

__“No lamps in here?” Harry asks._ _

__“No; no Muggle sockets or appliances at all in the kitchen. Cooking is as therapeutic as making potions for me, and I prefer to do it the old fashioned way.”_ _

__“Magic is old fashioned now?”_ _

__Malfoy laughs. “It may as well be. Sit down.” Malfoy motions to the table in the middle of the room, very similar to the set up of Harry's own kitchen downstairs._ _

__Once seated, Harry doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he ends up wedging them under his thighs to keep them out of the way._ _

__“With magic being on the blink, I can't heat anything up. Will sandwiches be okay?”_ _

__“Fine, yeah.”_ _

__“I need to use up this lamb tonight now the preservation charm on it isn't working. Want mint sauce with it?”_ _

__“A lamb and mint sauce sandwich?” Harry asks with amusement._ _

__“Well, I have a few other things if you'd—” Malfoy seems embarrassed, so Harry interrupts._ _

__“No, no, lamb and mint sauce sounds really nice, actually.”_ _

__Malfoy smiles, reassured and Harry is pleased with himself._ _

__As Malfoy turns away to prepare the sandwiches, Harry can't help watching him. He stares at Malfoy's feet, still covered with purple polka dots. Malfoy's left foot is tapping, as though following some tune playing in Malfoy's head. Then Harry's eyes trail up Malfoy's long—very long; he's rather tall—legs, until Harry finds himself starting at Malfoy's bottom and not even trying to convince himself he doesn't want to be doing that. Eventually, after committing the view to memory, Harry's eyes carry on upwards, over the planes of Malfoy's back, distorted by, but discernible through his top. As Harry begins gazing at Malfoy's hair, Malfoy turns to look at Harry over his shoulder. Harry tries to look innocent and feels relief he didn't get caught when we was looking lower._ _

__“Do you want a drink?”_ _

__Harry clears his throat for no reason before saying, “Just water, please.”_ _

__And then Malfoy is placing a lamb and mint sauce sandwich and a glass of water in front of Harry and sitting opposite him with the same._ _

__They eat and discuss The Godfather. Harry very much enjoyed it and can see why it's one of Malfoy's favourites, while Malfoy is smugly pleased at having introduced Harry to the world of the Corleones. Malfoy also insists that Harry must at some point watch the sequel; as brilliant as the first film is, the second one has a young Robert De Niro and he's _gorgeous_. Harry blushes and smiles and promises Malfoy he will watch it._ _

__While they are talking Harry barely notices the flashes of lightning through the bare kitchen window; his eyes rarely leave Malfoy. He's also not affected by the cracks of thunder he hears; he's far too enthralled by Malfoy's laughter and infectious enthusiasm._ _

__When Malfoy talks about some of the special effects in the film, including a fake forehead and a blob of prosthetic flesh, Harry pulls a face to express his disgust. Malfoy laughs and claps his hands together with delight. At the sound of the clap, Malfoy's kitchen light comes on and the laughter abruptly stops._ _

__“Oh,” Malfoy says into the suddenly bright room. “Magic's back.”_ _

__Harry sighs in relief and reaches for the wand in his pocket. “ _Accio tea light_.” One of the tea lights flies across the room and lands in Harry's hand. Harry blows out the flame before quickly dropping the candle on the table. “Ah, hot!”_ _

__Malfoy is laughing again as he spells away the spilt candle wax._ _

__“I hadn't even noticed the storm subsiding,” Malfoy says as he walks to the kitchen window to look out into the now dark, but clear sky. “You'll be relieved; no more jumping at the sudden flashes and rumbles.”_ _

__“I didn't—” Harry begins to protest but it's no use._ _

__“You did too. You were like a wide-eyed, pleading and terrified kitten as soon as you walked in here. 'Don't leave me', your eyes said.” Malfoy smiles. “I'm glad you managed to relax and loosen up.”_ _

__So he is that obvious. Whatever. This means that Malfoy also knows Harry may have a small crush on him, but he isn't teasing Harry about _that_ , so... Well, Harry isn't sure what to think of that._ _

__Knowing the jig is up, Harry decides to be polite about it._ _

__“Well, thank you for taking in this terrified kitten; it's appreciated.”_ _

__“You're welcome. I won't force you stay and put a collar on you now the storm has passed.” Malfoy rises from his chair. “I'll fetch your shoes, but do not even think about removing those slippers.”_ _

__As Malfoy walks away Harry's heart sinks. Harry is enjoying Malfoy's company and doesn't want to leave, but now has no excuse to stay._ _

__When Malfoy returns he not only has Harry's shoes, but also two DVDs and a small device that looks like a laptop. Harry frowns and he is handed all of these items._ _

__“Godfather two and three, and a portable DVD player. It's fully charged and should last for the two films, if and when you want to watch them.” Malfoy shrugs one shoulder, as if he's not sure if Harry will want to even bother._ _

__Harry grins, happily. “Well, after the storm I don't know if I'll want to sleep tonight, so these will be great, thank you.”_ _

__“You're welcome.”_ _

__“Can I drop them back off tomorrow morning?” Harry is already thinking of excuses to see Malfoy again._ _

__With a shake of his head Malfoy says, “I'm out early tomorrow morning, but I can stop off at yours on my way home to collect them?”_ _

__Hiding his small pang of disappointment, Harry nods his agreement and clings to the fact that he _will_ see Malfoy again._ _

__Malfoy shows Harry to the door and out into the now-lit hallway. After wishing each other a goodnight, the door to flat 13 is closed and Harry makes his way downstairs._ _

__-_ _

__All Harry wanted was to get to know Malfoy better. After a month and a half of living in the same building as Malfoy, but only seeing him sparingly, by chance and talking about nothing but their neighbours and the building, Harry got fed up. Instead of daydreaming about chance encounters that lead naturally to time spent together, Harry thought of ways he could orchestrate a chance encounter and manipulate it into naturally leading to time spent together._ _

__He came up with many flimsy ideas including, but not limited to: setting off the building's fire alarm and rescuing all of the older residents together; having an “accident” in his flat during which he could only shout through the ceiling for Malfoy's help; knocking on Malfoy's door and asking to borrow a cup of sugar and casually talking his way inside. A lot of Harry ideas involved simply knocking on Malfoy's door, but for some reason none of them involved just asking him out for a drink. Harry refused to believe it was that easy._ _

__Coming up with ideas was one thing, but carrying them out was quite another, and Harry never found the balls to do them. He would get as far as walking up the one flight of stairs that separated them, but instead of knocking on the door, he would stare at it. He was always divided on whether he wanted Malfoy to open the door and find him there, forcing them to talk, or whether he didn't want to be discovered and end up humiliating himself._ _

__Harry and Malfoy had failed at becoming friends at school, and it seemed they were doomed from becoming friends now that they had ended up as neighbours. The hardest part for Harry was that he knew he didn't just want to be Malfoy's friend._ _

__-_ _

__Harry has no idea what time it is when he is woken by a loud knocking at his door. He had, as promised, stayed up the previous night watching The Godfather two and three on his borrowed DVD player. He's then slept the morning away, apparently, because he can now not only hear the knocking, but also Malfoy's voice yelling through his door._ _

__“Potter, you didn't die of fright after all, did you?”_ _

__“No,” Harry says as he whips open the door to find an amused Malfoy, looking just as nonchalant as he had done on his own doorstep the evening before._ _

__“Did you stay up all night watching brilliant films?” Malfoy asks excitedly._ _

__“Yes.” Harry can't stop himself from smiling at the sight of a happy Malfoy. “Come in and we can talk about them over a cup of tea.”_ _

__Harry waves Malfoy inside and shuts the door behind him._ _

__“You'll know where the kitchen is, if you want to find some mugs while I get dressed.” Harry is suddenly conscious of being in his superhero pyjamas._ _

__“Sure thing, Batman,” replies Malfoy as he disappears into the kitchen._ _

__Harry changes quickly, more than eager to get back to the kitchen; back to Malfoy. He stops off at the bathroom on his way back to check his hair, not that there is much that can be done with it._ _

__When Harry enters the kitchen he finds a perplexed looking Malfoy sitting at his dining table and staring at two objects in his hands. In one, a old candle. In the other, a few pieces of wooden shavings. Harry's stomach drops as he turns to look at his rubbish bin: full of candles and wooden shavings._ _

__“Shit,” Harry mutters to himself._ _

__“You have candles,” Malfoy comments, easily enough. Harry had expected anger._ _

__“Erm, yeah, they, er—they don't work.”_ _

__Malfoy waves the hand still holding the wooden shavings and the candle lights. “Yes, they do.”_ _

__“Malfoy, listen, I—”_ _

__“You threw them away so you had an excuse to knock on my door last night. I get it. It's okay.”_ _

__“It's... it's okay?”_ _

__“You were scared. I'm not going to make fun of you. You could have just asked for some company, you know. Too much pride can be a bad thing.” Malfoy looks up at Harry. “I should know.”_ _

__“Oh—okay.”_ _

__“What puzzles me is this.” Malfoy waves his hand to indicate the wooden shavings._ _

__“That's just sawdust. It's not useful for much, hence it being in the bin.” Harry turns to start opening cupboards and animatedly prepares two cups of tea. “Do you take milk and sugar?”_ _

__“Milk, no sugar. But why would you _have_ wooden shaving?”_ _

__“Thanks for lending me those films last night, I really enjoyed them. Robert De Niro is really great.”_ _

__“Harry, did you send me the wooden elephant?”_ _

__It's Malfoy's use of his first name, more than the question that makes Harry spin around in surprise._ _

__“What?”_ _

__“Did you _make_ the wooden elephant?” When he receives no response, Malfoy takes it for the silent admission that it is. “Why?”_ _

__Harry looks down at the floor, unable to meet Malfoy's eyes. He shrugs._ _

__“I work with wood. Mainly practical things like trinket boxes and such. When you moved in I wanted to give you a house warming present, so I took the opportunity to make something purely decorative. I sent it anonymously because, well, we'd met once since you'd moved in and me helping you move some boxes isn't a declaration of peace or friendship. I didn't know how you'd take receiving a gift from me. I didn't want you to throw it away.”_ _

__As he speaks, Harry is shocked to realise how much Malfoy meant to him, even then. How much the thought of Malfoy rejecting his gift—rejecting him—hurt._ _

__“I very much doubt I would have thrown it away; it's beautiful. I'm glad I finally have the opportunity to thank you.”_ _

__Harry's awkwardness fades a little at Malfoy's words. He hears the scrape of Malfoy's chair and he feels the courage to look up. Malfoy is standing in front of Harry smiling._ _

__“Thank you,” says Malfoy._ _

__“You're welcome.”_ _

__“Why an elephant?”_ _

__At this, Harry looks down again. He sees Malfoy's feet parallel with his own and wonders what colour socks he has on under his shoes. “Because no matter what's going on between us; school boy rivals, enemies, neighbours... friends. No matter how we feel about each other... I'll never forget you.”_ _

__A hand under his chin encourages Harry to look up and face Malfoy once again._ _

__“How we feel about each other?” asks Malfoy. “You're nice to me the day I arrive in the building, you chase me down the street to buy me chips, you stand looking at my front door but never knock on it and you run to me when you're scared. I know exactly how we feel about each other.”_ _

__And the next thing Harry feels is Malfoy's lips against his own._ _


End file.
